Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Beckon the lost soul.
Come to where we lay the wreath.
For your endless pain.
Reward the end of your grief.

And Albert moved on through the sky.
Where choirs of angels sang.
"O' joy welcome, the soul" they cry.
"Welcome Albert" their voices rang.

"To the kingdom of heaven you come,
Bearing tidyings of love to him on his throne,
Where his glory will fill your heart, strong one,
Come, to the kingdom of heaven, rest so,"

And the angels, with their robes and halos,
they viewed me, like a noble son to be praised.
Their faces, like mine, like the humans that lay low,
Beneath, as my beloved, ripped from me stays.

And on an endless expanse of white, Albert steps.
The singing lows to a hum as he walks.
To a small gate, like the one to eden I suspect.
Where an old man waits at the fork.

"Not many people see this young man,
you are here to be judged for your sins."
"And of the crowd, around, are they part of this plan?
To see my past before me, torn out from within."

Click, his fingers went and the angels were gone.
In a blink they had left from his sight.
"I don't enjoy hurting a fragile man, so calm,
be calm and don't worry, nor fight.

I am merely an observer who listens and will speak,
I suspect you're a man who tried his best.
I have faith you will be given a chance at the peak,
To enter. Now, to the rest."

Albert clenched and he unclenched but did not find the strength,
to move from one spoke to the next.
To pass on from this life, and move to the penthouse.
And take his place in the eternal breast.

"What is your name?" the man asked.
"Albert, and yours?" "I am Peter.
I am serving as the eyes for the kingdom of heaven.
And for you, consider me your praetor."

"Like an administrator?" Albert asked, his eyes showing interest.
"Exactly! Like one of those with a process to follow."
"I see." Albert said. And with that, he was silent.
And Peter began, aware of Alberts sorrow.

"You are guilty of many, but proven false in none.
Your story is not one to be ridiculed or held,
In contempt, I find you quite lacking,
In love I see to your body it melds."

Albert began. "I have betrayed, I have hurt, I have lied.
I have done nothing to deserve a place amongst the stars.
I feel I have done everything wrong in my life.
There is nothing to be proud in those memoirs."

"If your story were different, I would agree.
For now I can say that's not true.
But arguing is a game for fools on the ground.
So, with passage I grant to you.

With serenity you accepted your mothers cruel words.
With courage you faced a fathers wrath.
Your own friends, you decried, but you fought and you loved.
And to their fates, I have no kind words, for what they have."

An angel believes that Albert is worth saving.
Albert believes he is wrong.
And even Peter could not stop this fate that was caving,
Into a hole in his mind quite unsound.

But Peters eyes had risen to above.
As a single black form in the white.
Was looking back down, unflinching to he,
who would judge those souls on their flight.

And he raised his hands as his the angels had appeared.
Their armour clinched up in the beyond.
And a flash of darkness, stole sight from the heavens.
And Albert appeared by a pond.

The end was not there.
The flight was at an end.
From where had Albert been thrown?

To the confusing becoming,
of a baby lay bear,
Albert, on his back all alone.
"Where did he go?"
The one who asked the question.
He does not believe it so.
That he should move to the next section.

From the heart of a mother.
To the love of the son.
And the bond of his father.
Brought together into none.

Albert did not live and love,
from the beginning of his life he kept,
And himself was made safe through the rough.
Only by himself, for himself had he wept.

And when he was known to be gone.
There was almost no one to weep.
And the few who shed tears, some.
They knew his broken heart would not beat.

It had lived with a hole,
so open and bleeding.
And in his words, it did show.
A friend to hold it closed he was needing.

And the books in his house were of adventure.
The thoughts on his head were of struggle.
His poems published online of indenture,
That his unwell mind was mired in trouble.

And they spoke of a girl he once knew.
And the investigator, most likely, he thought.
"I think Albert took his life, and he threw.
And with that, a lot of trouble for us he brought."

Albert never wanted to bring others trouble.
But it seemed he couldn't help it, even when away.
And as the papers were brought to a file and wrapped in a bundle.
The case was brought to an end that day.

But Albert was alive and with a stumble.
He was here now, he was here to stay.
And he walked. He entered the dim night.
On a still dare to clear his head.
Thoughts and anxiety bound and tight.
Unrested limbs and dressed to beg.

The bright town of shimmering lights.
The cars that bleed into the street.
Focus past from thoughts on heights.
To the walkers and ghosts that move on the creep.

Albert brooded through the park he walked.
"Falks Ave" where stood his homestead.
Clothed and hidden, his own head distraught,
Thoughts left unsought, words left unsaid.

Where eyes of musty grey show might,
And intimidate the passerby refuse to look,
Upon him, a man of ultimately dim sight,
Friends left unmade, hearts left unshook.

He sees a memory of his own and quickly looks away.
As the shade of a man who already knows his past.
That the history of his lost heart and his present lead astray,
Wounds left untended, Love left ungrasped.

The sound of a train moves distantly so.
Albert sits at a bench and huddles in the cool.
"I don't wish to be here, and yet I still go.
To soothe my soul by looking as a ghoul.

Lonely and cross at what I can't know.
Thinking if I stay here forever, I'll be in the ground.
But I just don't understand why it happened to me."
Help left ungiven, Answers left unfound.

His eyes assess his condition.
The park at his back, the road to his front.
He thinks of an old superstition.
That maybe he just wasn't enough.

That life simply moved as fates hands dictate.
And he is but a puppet being played on his string.
To move through pain and pleasure in his state.
To ultimately be gifted with a gods own blessing.

And then the world shook.
And he didn't know anything.
Straightening files and writing names.
Of fables, tales and speeches of unseen.
Where word of the fantastical align with his aims,
So there sat Albert, finding what he could glean.

"Where does the light go from here?
Where will I be when I die?
I wish not to be in hell, no line will I do there.
To heaven I feel most unlikely for I.

Juniper... I wonder where you would go.
Where the world would have you be.
I wonder to which place you would sow.
I wish you were here with me."

The poor man continued his sorting.
His plans, his ideas and their action with do.
And when all with which shined divine, became that reporting.
He took all with a sword to keep and run through.

For the words in the paper.
The lines in sand.
Wash away with lies much greater,
Than truth unable to stand.

Albert looked at the cross, he studied its wood.
The smooth lacquer that bore his touch.
And where the lines of his studies, of all that is good.
Turned dour eyes as a crutch.

"Where does god to be with man, hold in esteem?
The frontward facing pain in my heart.
Of a woman gone, folded in the seems,
Of a world that is tearing me apart."

He pondered and drew yonder to in a sigh.
And there was no one to listen.
And there was no answer from on high.
And so Albert moved on, he moved as if stricken.
"Reg, J

From where I sit, you seem troubled.
An affording further, thee,
Your heart belongs to another.
And yet you temper to remember she.

With whom there was a love.
A love, of which you lost.
And yet breath, of memories no more.
Sprinkled with **** and you call it gloss.

You bear such trouble, such aimless need,
For one of whom hates you so.
But death is such a boring end!
I want to know how far you'll go.

So I make an offer, I won't lie.
Find me where eyes are lathed in greed.
And I will appear to you, but once.
And arm you with what you need.

To run your foolish errand.
And continue your forsaken goal.
When me and my brothers laugh at you.
And how much suffering will take its toll.

O' cursed soul, how much I see you weep.
But know this idiotic cause quite just.
Because the divine will blame you as the world cannot take you."

The final line of this poem is lost.
Vibrant mitochondria.
Stretching from the dark.
Action a bad idea.

Memory haze.
Into the fiery depths.
I grudge on in chains.

More than a life.
Pine trees ask where she is.
Miserly moving through most nights.

A kind idiot asks "why?"
Without future, I need no past
To where desolation lay, I do not shy.

Here we find her grave.
Onerous and false.
Where I remember and find what to save.

So, my personal ghost.
The real one is out there living her life.
Seems you still want to play host.

My former love, what shall we write today?
I pull at this rope ladder, adjoining these cliffs.
Umbridge with my crawl to the other side.
Myopic days spin the wheel, sputtering in fits.
Arms and legs of a forgotten bride.

Feathers of a bird flutter to the bouquet.
Jumping at the opportunity of a happy lucky life.
Dwellings shroud the ghetto in dismay.
And you went home without me, to your side.

Feels good to get it all out.
That without you, I feel a broken man.
Tallow and sloth from me you are without.
Your impression of me a ghost, a memory and as well, a brand.

Frontward we walk at the same goal.
But without eyes there is no love I could know.
My very depth, my heart beckons your soul.
And yours deaf, as its silence tells me to go.

Like petals falling on the ocean.
My thoughts of you still linger on.
They fight, they coil and in motion.
Rest in the words of this psalm.
Next page